I'm not living, I'm just killing time

On est bien, là. Un verre, deux verres, dix verres. Ça y est ! J'y suis presque !

On est bien, là. Un coup par devant, un coup par derrière. Ça y est ! J'y suis presque !

On est bien, là. Une taffe, deux taffes, dix grammes. Ça y est ! J'y suis presque !

On est bien, là. Un tête à tête, un petit comité, une grosse fête. Ça y est ! J'y suis presque !

On est bien, là. Dans les petits moments d'éternité, dans les secondes qui ne passent pas assez vite, dans la prison du temps.

On y est, toujours presque. À l'instant où tout bascule. Toujours presque prêt à jouir. Toujours presque près des sommets puis presque près des profondeurs.

On y était presque. On a vraiment pensé que cette fois, c'était la bonne. On a cru qu'on pouvait être extraordinaire.

I can't grasp the concept of my own age. 40 by the end of the year. Sometimes, I feel like I'm 80, sometimes like I'm 5.

I can feel I'm getting old by the amount of experiences I've gone through, while feeling I haven't done anything at all.

Tonight, I spent my evening with my new neighbors that are around 20. And it was a strange mix of emotions. I could sometimes feel like I was washed out, disconnected and suddenly I had a burst of "youth" coming deep from inside.

I don't think I want to be the kind of "old" lady trying to act young at all cost. But I felt really honest towards the "kiddos". I'm not on my prime anymore. Time and life have taken a toll on me, way too hard. But I can share things that bound us.

Age is not about creating an intangible barrier or trying to act almighty. I'm getting old, of course, but I can try to transmit things down and learn new things at the same time.

But there's something that soothes me : I can be the cliché lovely old lady baking cakes for youngsters, while staying weird.

Age is a strange thing. It's better if you don't try to make it absolute. I may be growing old, I just don't have to change who I am to correspond to what is asked to women past a certain age.

Two nights ago I had a strange episode. I ran away from home in the middle of the night and stayed outside for 2 hours. I don't remember much except I just wanted to disappear.

Eventually I got cold, after crying for what seemed hours in wet grass and mud, I found a building with opened doors, went inside, found something to cover myself and tried to sleep away.

When I came back, the "gendarmerie" was looking for me. They called an ambulance. I was brought to psychiatric emergencies.

I woke up, feeling like shit, in the hospital. Everybody was really nice to me.

I met with a psychiatrist, she said she thought my symptoms were those of a borderline personality disorder.

I feel sad, empty, exhausted. While trying to maintain an agreeable human face. Burned-out.

I'm tired of pretending I'm fine.

Hi there.

Long time no see.

The same old feeling of loneliness and emptiness.

Over and over again.

The same old feeling of being disconnected and estranged to the world.

Plus the fact I gained too much weight and I hate myself physically more than ever.

I really want to try to dissociate myself from the world for good.

It's been a while.

I'm not good.

I've left a lot, but I haven't left enough.

I can't go on, but I don't want to hurt anybody.

I'm in love, I can't fight it.

I sent an email to E. and after a first response, I'm glad I did it. Anxiety lifted (for a while, it's always creeping).

He told me he'll write to me more tonight and I can't wait to know what he has to say. Even if it means that our relationship will remain purely platonic and friendly.

I'm glad B. doesn't have bad feelings either. I was really afraid I'd ruined what we have.

I'm on my own, drinking beer, my head full of thoughts.

I've seen how I could spiral down, in a physical, tangible way. Just a few words written by somebody else and it's like I can see light again.

I always knew that the bad mental space was dark and heavy, but it was a vague feeling. Tonight, I've seen the difference quite quickly.

It's still not the good sensations I've been used to since the confinement, but my thoughts have stopped and it's like I've just left a land of despair filled with horrible voices of obliteration. And the contrast is quite strikening.

Double masque, celui qui protège et celui qui draine et épuise les réserves.

Je ne veux pas faire comme si ce n'était jamais arrivé. C'était là et ça avait la saveur de l'enfance, concept abstrait du temps, petites satisfactions du quotidien qui prennent leur source dans des petits riens.

I know that alcohol is not a good way to deal with things. I also know that I have quite a temper when drunk.

But I don't know how to express while sober.

I'm always good and nice, I try to deal with sensibilities. I'm so lukewarm, it hurts.

So fuck it. Fuck you and all your seriousness. Fuck you and all your opinions that come crashing into my world all of the time. Fuck you racists and classists and sexists.

Yes, my inhibitions are lifted, yes I'm not this lovely piece of turd I am all the time to preserve you while making myself miserable because I can't deal with your shit.

You're hurting myself all of the time, why can't I hurt you once in a while?

Why can't you understand I crave for something else?

It's kinda weird : I feel a little better now than in the past month, but people tell me that I look depressed and really tired.

I don't know if it's just a delayed reaction or if I just finally decided to drop the mask off.

Somewhere, somehow, it's like I came to the conclusion that I can't always hide the state I'm in. It's too exhausting to pretend all the time, but I can see why I do it : people are not comfortable with a sad looking person. They ignore it or try to add some fun. In a way, that's good. No more work for me, make the jokes for me, I'm tired to be funny.

I want to embrace the drama, the tragedy. I'm in a bad place and if you can't deal with it, just leave me.

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